he gives his harness bells a shake [open]

[goodweather]

WHO: Phil, friends, and you
WHEN: Nov 2nd and onwards
WHERE: Around
WHAT: moping about like a loser (November catchall)
WARNINGS: Aftermath of Halloween, contains some references to the carnage



i. the only other sound's the sweep (tauva, night of nov 1st/morning of nov 2nd)

Besides speaking with Erin and Darcy, Phil doesn't leave his room on November 1st. He doesn't answer the door, except for those he knows well enough. Most texts are similarly ignored. He just wants to... sleep is the wrong word. Turn off, maybe. Thankfully there's piles of breakfast outside for him to filch, but even if there wasn't, he doesn't think that the hunger pangs would overpower the exhausting prospect of having to talk to someone.

(And they may well want to, if they see any of him in Photos at Sea. Bloodied and beaten, Maeve standing over his corpse.)

But then it's 2 AM. Normally he's down by midnight, and he's not lacking in fatigue, but sleeping doesn't feel right. Not after what's happened. What, just rest, after all that? Just sleep?

So it's in the night when the owl finally flies his nest, down to Tauva, and pours himself a drink.

ii. of easy wind and downy flake (around, early november)

He's not done sulking, but he's done with doing it in his cabin. After a while it starts getting cramped and stuffy, so instead he'll do it in places like the library or the lounge or the shadows of the pool deck, and hope that he looks dour enough for people to leave him alone. Yes, he wants to be around people, and no, he doesn't want them to talk to him. (Not that he'll turn them away if they do.)

He fills his time with hobbies. Where before he'd just done things for the sake of it, now they're distractions, filling time before he starts doing something stupid, keeping himself from getting too mired in misery. He shreds napkins to pieces as small as he can get them and scatters the bits into the sea like shitty snow. He sits on the deck with an empty stare at the sunset. Sometimes he just lays about.

And sometimes he steals ice cubes from the bars to make tiny ice sculptures, with his minimal ice powers and his newfound talons.

iii. the woods are lovely, dark, and deep (john's, mid november)

Phil had previously been a regular at John's; most evenings, the ship could hear him practicing on its piano for at least an hour, often more. This was unfailing routine for the past four months.

After Halloween, it goes silent. He isn't even at the bar. He isn't there at all.

It's two weeks before he even shows up there again, and he hardly plays when he does; he just dances a single hand around the keys for about a half hour. It takes a bit of adjusting to account for the talons, but he manages.

The second day, Phil seems to be gaining his momentum back. He puts a book on the music stand. It's a slow start, one hand at a time, running the parts slowly, so it goes for about an hour and a half... then he puts both of his hands on the keys and plays.

iv. but i have promises to keep (wildcard)

[ Other things to note: Phil will not be seen flying at all for most of November, not that he did much of that before.

but otherwise? you got something, just hit me! available for plotting here at this journal or you can find me on the discord @ dongpuncher#7741 :] ]

Comments

[serialskiller]

"I died."

Robot voice is in full swing, no emotions about it at all.

[goodweather]

There's no denying the cold jolt in his stomach. He just hopes it doesn't show.

"... Yeah, me too."

Violently, as they all did.

("Died," did SecUnit say? Instead of "was terminated" or whatever?)

He should give more than that, though. "Someone wearing Maeve's face... my music student." Deep, belabored sigh. "She got me." Crosses one lace over the other. "I hope she's alright. I'd make sure, but I can't... I don't know... if I can talk to her for a while."

[serialskiller]

It seems very thoughtful for a moment. When it speaks, there's a certain carefulness to it, as if it's picking every word deliberately.

"I know of someone else who will be seeking her out to talk about her possession and its aftermath. She will not be without people checking on her."

[goodweather]

"Good," he says, and he means it.

And thinks about what else to say. He wants to keep its company, and he wants to make sure it's doing alright, but. That process is a little more complex when someone's already closed itself off.

But information is... relatively concrete. Impartial if he does it right.

"When... how much do you know about what happened?"

[serialskiller]

"Everything I know after shit hit the oxygen circulators is secondhand."

Everything, not 'almost everything', not 'nearly everything'. It really did get the shit of it.

[goodweather]

A pause.

“Right,” he says, making note, “but what do you know?”

[serialskiller]

"That those who were possessed attacked, and attempted to not-fully-kill the passengers of this voyage, in order to allow their bodies to be possessed by allies. That the way to end a possession was to kill the one being possessed. Specifics, who killed who and who was possessed by whom, I don't have a solid grasp on, for the most part."

[goodweather]

“Mm. Okay. I’m—some of the stuff I’m gonna say is also secondhand. I was… taken out pretty early too.”

A pause. “I don’t know many specifics either. Ossie was possessed, Maeve was possessed, Erin Peters… killed a lot of the possessed, sent the bodies back to their owners.”

Phil shifts, thinking. “Someone possessing Friday kept everybody in one place with a force field. No one in and no one out. César was safe on the outside… um. Darcy, and this kid named Vance, knife club kid… this is the stuff I was told. They took out Friday.” (Monday?) “So the force field dropped, but at the same time, someone destroyed the entire deck, dropping everybody onto the promenade. That’s all I know.”

[serialskiller]

It nods slowly. "Thanks for the update. I'll be sure to check in with Erin. She and I have a standing appointment."

[goodweather]

"Yeah, of course."

A thoughtful pause. "I just want to make sure you're informed. Again, this is me saying I care. I... feel like it's the least I could do?"

Why informing other people is a form of looking after them is a little more difficult to articulate right now when his sluggish brain is already chugging at the max of its limited power, so he won't, not unless it asks.

"You know Erin? Peters?"

[serialskiller]

"Yes. She has been doing me a favor by guarding me when I have my recharge cycles." It actually smiles just slightly as it admits this.

[goodweather]

"Oh!"

Phil isn't so sure if his insight skills apply 1:1 to awkward robots, but he hasn't had any reason to doubt himself yet. He sees that littlest of smiles. Phil can't help the one he gives in return, as he looks down and keeps his eyes on his terrible weaving, a halfhearted attempt at hiding it.

"Well, hey. I'm glad you've got someone to look after you like that. It's been working out, I hope? You've been doing alright?"

[serialskiller]

"Don't smile like that, it's not...whatever you're thinking. I don't do whatever you're thinking, alright?"

It doesn't even know what Phil's thinking, but it is certain of this much.

[goodweather]

“Nmm? No, of course not. It’s an allyship. I understand.”

Doesn’t look up. Threads one shoelace over the other.

[serialskiller]

"I'm still not entirely sure I understand. But I think it's a function of her need to help, more than anything."

It goes from watching Phil's hands to looking...away. Just generically away, across the room somewhere.

[goodweather]

Phil chews on that for a moment.

"Yeah, she is that kind of woman, huh?" He still remembers the way she repeatedly offered herself to his aid when he first stumbled out into the hall after Halloween. A hand, a hug, a breakfast... only the first of which he actually took, but hey. "It's nice of you to allow her to, then. People feel helpless if they can't help."

He glances up across the table briefly. "Speaking of... hey, take a look." He extends his wing. "No more pinfeathers. Who'da thought, huh?"

[serialskiller]

“They look really good. The wings, I mean.” It admires without touching, but it does show more than just a hint of smile at the wings’ condition. “You’ll let me know if you need help preening again?”

[goodweather]

"I will. I..."

A frown. "It might not be for a little while. Everybody's in the market for a new set of quills. Uh, I mean--more of them got pulled out during Halloween, and I think I need a little bit of a break before somebody else's fingers go tugging on them again."

Mara had pulled them out by the handful. Very, very fun. "I'll probably feel better about it in a week or two."

[serialskiller]

"Take your time and don't rush yourself into it. I know how it can be, not wanting to be touched. I don't like it at all, ever. Too much time not being able to say no to it, ever, perhaps."

[goodweather]

"... Yeah, that'd do it."

The reason for this sympathy is... unfortunate at best, but it's sympathy all the same, and he's very appreciative of it. (In his mental catalogue of people, he adds on "dislikes touch" as a very prominent tag onto SecUnit's case.)

"Well, you can say no to me. Either way, once I'm a little more okay with hands on my wings again, you'll know, yeah?"

[serialskiller]

"And...if you wanted, there's other reasons we could find to spend time in one another's proximity."

That's not a question or a request, but it has an air of uncertainty about it. It's shy and anxious and doesn't know how to ask for the things it wants, doesn't even feel certain it's allowed to want them.

[goodweather]

Don't grin, Phil.

"Oh, I'm sure." Crosses another shoelace with another. "I do want that. I'm very social, you know. I tend to feel better just being in the same room as someone else."

Glances up, then back at his terrible, terrible work. "Do you have any hobbies? We could start there."

[serialskiller]

While it considers sharing its obsession with serials, another hobby comes to mind.

"I've been learning to paint. With videos from a man named Bob Ross. The paint I have is watercolors, so following along is tricky sometimes. But. It feels nice, sometimes. Friday put one of my paintings up behind her desk."

[goodweather]

"Oh, that was you!" Yeah there's no hiding that Phil is pleased as punch about that, sorry. He thinks it's sweet.

"I've heard of Bob Ross, but I haven't watched much of him." He might have if there was more than a handful of episodes he could access in Punxsutawney, but alas. "I've been meaning to brush up on my painting. That might be nice."

[serialskiller]

"Yeah. Just...let me know when you're free. I'll pick out some of the good episodes for us to watch and paint."

It, after all, has every single episode.